


Mama

by ALPHAwolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Season 4 Spoilers, mama Sherly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALPHAwolf/pseuds/ALPHAwolf
Summary: As Sherlock learns, there is no way of rationalizing with a baby.





	Mama

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [妈妈](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741751) by [ALPHAwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALPHAwolf/pseuds/ALPHAwolf), [salazar1117](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazar1117/pseuds/salazar1117)



Fic Aesthetic-  <https://alphaalnitak.tumblr.com/post/172472339945/aesthetic-for-my-fanfic-mama-also-available-in>

 

* * *

 

 

"As you can see, Watson, the marks on the neck suggest strangulation, yet the post-mortem refuted that a potent street drug overdose was the cause of death. The victim's body was also found submerged in a bath tub. From this we can safely assume a self-administered overdose, due to the bruising found on the inner elbow, resulting in some type of seizure as the victim was bathing. As for the bruising, well, asphyxiation fetishes aren't that uncommon, understand?"

Sherlock held an image of the cadaver up like a flash card, a little something Molly had asked him to give his opinion on.

Rosamund continued to drink her milk with wide, innocent eyes, sitting in her high-chair right beside John's empty seat. The doctor had just gone out shopping for milk and baby formula, leaving Rosie in her godparents' hands.

"Ma." Rosamund babbled, the bottle's nipple popping from her mouth.

"Good. Now, here's the next one. As you can see-"

"Ma ma." He paused but elected to ignore her nonsensical blabber, pointing to the image.

"The abrasions on the chest appear-"

"Ma ma!" Rosie demanded loudly, poking out her bottom lip.

"-Appear-"

"Mama!!" When he didn't immediately respond to her screech the baby's lip began to tremble, eyes filling with tears. Sherlock's eyes widened as she suddenly broke into wails, water pouring down her chubby cheeks like fountains.

"Erm, um..." He hurriedly put the photographs down, looking around the room for some kind of crutch. There wasn't a soft toy or pacifier in sight. "Mrs Hudson!" She gave no reply and the crying grew in volume, causing him to cringe. Sherlock quickly jumped from his seat and hurried to the open door, yelling down the stairs. "Mrs Hudson?!" Still no reply. The woman was probably in the bathroom or doing something equally useless.

By now Rosie's screeches were like that of a disembowelled cat.

He wavered before rushing back, standing unsure in front of the weeping babe. She had her arms extended towards him, chubby hands making grabbing motions. Finally, hesitantly, he reached for her, lifting Rosie up out of the chair and holding her at arm’s length like a disease-ridden puppy.

"Ur, stop that." Still the gurgling and crying continued, but at least not as loud as before.

"Oh Sherlock!" He sighed in relief as Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway and tutted as if he were doing something wrong. The woman opened her arms and walked over, putting on a face for the infant as she made that ridiculous 'baby-voice' everyone seemed to feel was necessary when talking to young children or small animals. "Come here sweet-heart~" She attempted to take Rosie but the child let out a glass shattering shriek, starting to violently fuss. The elder woman immediately passed her back.

"What? No! I don't want it!"

"Just hold her a second- Properly Sherlock! Oh not like that, it's a baby not a violin!" She managed to help him manoeuvre the small human against his chest, the man extremely tight lipped and uncomfortable looking.

Mrs Hudson looked around and spotted the now empty baby bottle, Rosie already beginning to calm as she sniffled against Sherlock's shirt. It would need to be washed for snot marks, he thought with disgust.

"Oh Sherlock, you been showing her those God-awful photos? Ohh." Mrs. Hudson held a look of detest as she saw the images resting on the coffee table, making her way towards the kitchen to fill Rosamund's bottle. "Good thing she's too young to understand."

"Mama." Rosie mumbled, eyes falling shut.

"Shh." The genius whispered pointedly down at the baby.

"Sherlock! We're all out of milk and formula!" Came a screech from the kitchen. The consulting detective groaned internally and rolled his eyes as Rosie fell asleep in his arms.

 

§

 

Sherlock sat huddled in his pyjamas with his feet up on the coach as he watched another terrible soap opera. He found the energy required to locate the elusive remote and change the channel demerit to the return.

From his seat he could hear the sound of the shower running over the televisions mindless babble, coupled with John's humming. It was satisfyingly familiar, calming. He was more than glad to have the ex-soldier back, living in 221B again. It had taken some convincing, but finally John had agreed to move back in so that he could have Mrs Hudson's help with Rosie 24/7.

"Mama." Rosamund sat beside Sherlock in her carrier wide eyed, big blue eyes like her father's trained on him.

"Go to sleep." He instructed sternly as the infant began to look upset.

"Ma ma." Sherlock sighed as Rosie's eyes became wet.

"Yes, your mother is dead and it's very sad, now sleep." The baby was still pouting, in fact he felt as though she was giving him the evil eye. Which was impossible, as she was a baby.

"Mama." Again she repeated that incessant word and reached her chubby little hands out towards him.

"No, I am not your mother."

"Mama." The babe rebutted with finality.

"Mama is just an informal term for mother, deriving from the name used by worshipers of the goddess Ninkhursag." Sherlock explained.

"Ma."

"Now you've just made it shorter." The two had a staring contest as Rosie began to whimper. "Not only do I lack the physical requirements for such a feat as childbirth, but I've certainly never engaged in sexual intercourse with your father. Furthermore, if we were to have any kind of romantic relationship, which is extremely unlikely as your father is very sensitive about his heterosexuality, we would need to be married in order for me to be legally considered your parent. Even then, I would be your stepfather, not mother. Mother is a term reserved for females, those like yourself, but, ur... Older, who have adopted or given birth to a child, or even nuns, like, erm, Mother Teresa, or that silly figurehead for childhood rhyme Mother Goose. I am none of those things. And ever if I were-" He turned to the baby but found her asleep, resting peacefully with her thumb falling from her mouth.

"Bored her to sleep, did you?" John asked with a smile as he entered the room, a towel around his waist. Sherlock looked away hurriedly from the doorway and back to the tv.

"Don't be foolish." Sherlock pouted as the silvering blond chuckled, coming over to pick up his daughter. The detective felt his cheeks warm and avoided looking at the other's torso as he lifted the baby and held her against his bare chest.

"Let's get you to bed." He whispered, making his way towards the open door. "You too Sherlock." The genius's head immediately perked up and he leapt off the couch after the other, shutting off the tv as he passed.

 

§

 

China teacups clinked against saucers in the afternoon light streaming through the large windows of 221B. Mrs Hudson had insisted on a high tea for her birthday celebration. Nothing too big, she was getting too old for large gatherings apparently, not that she'd tell anyone how old she actually was.

The crowd had increase from its originally planned five (Molly, Rosie, Sherlock, John, and of course Mrs Hudson), to seven. This was due to Mycroft dropping in to give the woman a gift as a thank you for caring for his brother (an expurgation of all this year’s traffic law violations), and Lestrade had come to try get Sherlock into a new case. Mrs Hudson had however demanded Sherlock not take part in any of that 'nasty business' on her birthday, so the detective had stayed for a cuppa instead. Personally, Sherlock felt the only reason she didn't want him on a case was because she was enjoying having him wait on her for a change.

At the sound of Rosie crying through the baby monitor all idle chatter silenced and John immediately put his tea down before rushing out the room.

"So," Mycroft turned to Sherlock as the gossip continued, "how's married life treating you?" The younger Holmes glared at his brother. "Is it to be Sherlock Watson now? Or perhaps John Holmes?" The secret serviceman was finding this far too amusing. Soon enough and he'd have to start being as defensive as John. Even Mrs Hudson was back on it, and Molly certainly didn't look at him the way she used to. It was as if Rosie had started an epidemic.

Speak of the little devil, John entered the room with her tucked in his arms. There was a chorus of 'isn't she adorable' followed by endless cooing at the sight. It seemed only him and Mycroft didn't understand the appeal of a snot nosed brat frowning with fat tears glistening down her cheeks.

She saw the crowd and began to cry again, causing the group to make more infernal noise as John pat her comfortingly on the back.

Rosie's big, aqua-filled eyes then met Sherlock's. He thinned his gaze. She wouldn't dare-

"Mama!"

Everyone froze. The tea was still. Sherlock looked down at his cup. Mycroft looked at Sherlock. Everyone else looked at Rosie.

"I don't believe it." John was flabbergasted. "That's her first word!" An uproar of congratulations and more cooing suddenly broke out. Sherlock's tea had a visible tremor.

John's chest had swelled with pride and Rosie was momentarily distracted by all the sudden 'baby voices' surrounding her.

"Oh Mary would be so proud!" Mrs Hudson said, looking close to tears. John nodded, barely containing him smile.

"Mama!!" Rosamund screeched, shocking everyone as she thrashed around in John's hold. She was crying fiercely again.

Sherlock huffed and put his tea down, storming over to the infant. She immediately hushed as he pointed his finger at her, appearing to be telling her off quietly.

"We've discussed this, for the last time I am not your mother."

"Mama!" She grabbed his finger and he tensed before sighing.

The group watched with surprise as she reached up for him, both pouting as baby like as one another. They seemed to be having a battle of wills in the long silence. Mrs Hudson finally broke it.

"Oh go on Sherlock, you know she's more stubborn." The woman was right. Rosamund's lip was already beginning to tremble.

"Ugh, fine." Sherlock opened his arms and John, still recovering from the unexpected turn of events, handed her over.

Rosie giggled, entertaining herself with the Byzantium buttons of Sherlock's purple shirt. Sherlock frowned, hiding his growing plume for the babe. She'd played them all like instruments. Himself included.

The conversations reawakened and fresh Earl Grey was poured.

"Got yourself a new wife then?" Greg asked, coming to stand beside John. The blond couldn't help smile as he watched Sherlock gently sway with Rosie in his arms. The baby was grinning up at him, the corner of Sherlock's lips turned up half an inch.

It was unarguable that Rosie had given Mrs Hudson the best birthday gift.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked!!! Remember kudos!


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